


Let Yourself Pretend He Loves You

by hollabackyo



Category: T@gged (Web Series)
Genre: (up until the time jump), Bisexual Brandon Darrow, Boys Kissing, Canon Compliant, Dubious Consent, Gay Trevor Askill, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Rowan Fricks has PTSD, Suicide Attempt, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking, Unrequited Crush, almost forgot about that, attempt!, it's...not very good i just wanted to do something with it instead of just have it sit in my docs, no beta we die like men, they give consent but they're both drunk so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:22:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27628118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollabackyo/pseuds/hollabackyo
Summary: Trevor isn't a good friend.Friends don't memorize the lines of muscles that peak through the fabric of their friend's shirt. Friends don't imagine those same lines slick against cotton sheets in the heat of summer.Trevor isn't a good brother.Brother's don't let their last words be "see you later." Brothers don't turn the lock of the bathroom door and ignore the frightened screams of their sister.Trevor can accept those things. In time.a character study of sorts, but with minor smut.
Relationships: Trevor Askill/Brandon Darrow
Kudos: 6





	Let Yourself Pretend He Loves You

Trevor had always known Sean and Brandon. They shared numerous classes over the past three years but the three of them had never really clicked. Not until the summer after Dunbar’s suicide. Brandon and Sean had run into Trevor at the grotto one Monday. He was buying bud from Ash and, not that they’re feinds, the two had offered Trevor a rolling paper in exchange for a couple of hits.

  
The three kept meeting up at the Grotto, getting high, getting drunk, sometimes even staying sober, growing closer and closer until it was rare to see one without the other two. Trevor liked them. Liked the dynamic they shared. Liked how welcomed he felt.  
They were and still are, exactly what Trevor needs to deal with all of the bullshit in his life.

  
It shouldn’t really come as a shock that Trevor had agreed to go to the party. He was up for any distraction, especially one that involved hanging out with Brandon and Sean. So despite their confused glances (because “bro you never go to parties”), Trevor doesn’t back out.

  
The night starts out like every other Friday night since Trevor joined their group. The three sat in a circle, drinking from their cups of beer while swapping stories about whatever was occupying their mind at the moment. Tonight is a bit different though, given that they are at a party rather than in solitude.

  
Parties were rare nowadays. In fact, Trevor recalls that this might be the first party since school ended. Or more specifically, since Dunbar’s suicide. He thinks people had avoided throwing parties out of respect for the guy. Or maybe just because they feared another kid would blow their brains out in the middle of a party.

  
Either way, the summer months had been quite dry and uneventful until tonight.  
But all of the past has been forgotten now by the giant crowd of drunk, lustful, and satisfied teenagers. People move all around them. The walls are alive with the vibrations of music as colors dance around their heads.

  
“Excited for Hailey’s return tomorrow?” Trevor teases Sean. His hands are a bit wobbly on the wrapping paper, twisting and rolling the joint in an attempt to make it secure.

  
“Screw you,” he laughs. “Bet there’s someone you’re excited to see.”

  
Trevor ignores the way his eyes flick towards Brandon. He decides to not answer.

  
“I’m sure everything will work out between you and Hailey,” Brandon slurs, placing a hand on Sean’s shoulder. It’s genuine, but something about his slow, stunted movements makes the moment a little less serious.

  
“Thanks,” Sean replies. He’s far more sober than the other two and it shows when he scowls at Trevor and snags the incomplete joint to finish rolling himself.  
Trevor doesn’t argue considering he was struggling a bit with all the alcohol already coursing through his veins.

  
“Hand me the tequila, Trev?” The blond boy asks.

  
His heart jumps a bit at the nickname. Only Brandon calls him Trev. It makes him feel special in a way. Maybe not in the way he would like it to be special, but special nonetheless.

  
Trevor passes the nearly full bottle to the other. The way Brandon’s hands brush his does not go unnoticed by the brunet.

  
He wishes he could feel those hands in other contexts. Steady on his hips, pushing him down. Tangled in his hair. Wishes he could hear that nickname whispered into his ear while those hands scrape up and down his waist.

  
He wishes he could be special to Brandon in every way a good friend shouldn’t.  
Brandon is staring at him. His eyes feel inescapable as he watches his Adam’s Apple bob with the gulp of tequila he’s swallowing.

  
Sean taps him on the shoulder, handing the joint to him as he exhales.

  
Happy to have something to distract himself with, Trevor perches the joint between his lips and pulls until his lungs are full of smoke. He holds it for a few seconds before exhaling. Instead of pushing out, he watches as the smoke twirls in the air above him, creating a cloud.

  
A few shots later and half a join later, Trevor is, in short, gone. Everything around him is muted. Brandon and Sean are laughing about something that he hasn’t processed yet and he likes the way the blond boy throws his head back. “You’re wearing a nice shirt,” Trevor speaks, grabbing at the gray fabric that clings to Brandon’s body.

  
“Thank you,” Brandon laughs. It was a random statement, Trevor knows that, but his filter is gone and it is a nice shirt. It’s soft, he thinks.

  
“Okay well I’ve got to go, my mom will have my ass if I’m out too late again,” Sean announces.

  
He claps both of the boys on the shoulder and excuses himself from their circle. Trevor watches as the curly-haired boy retreats into the crowd.

  
Brandon is watching him, his eyes roaming the brunet’s face. He looks away the second Trevor returns his gaze to the boy across from him.

  
“It’s getting kinda late, you wanna head out too?” Brandon asks.

  
Trevor considers for a second. He is still very drunk and high, it would probably not be for the best to be alone with the boy, but on the other hand, Trevor has always been a bit self-destructive.

  
“Sure. You still sleeping at my place?”

  
An unreadable expression passes beneath Brandon’s eyes as he nods. So it’s settled and the two begin the walk back to Trevor’s home.

  
“Are your parents home?” Brandon asks. He’s trying his hardest to stay upright on the sidewalk. It’s a pretty difficult feat considering with each step he tips a bit to the side.  
“Nah. My mom is staying with her sister right now. She said that being around my dad is too hard right now because of what he did. And my dad is on a work trip right now. He won’t get back for another two days.”

  
“Oh. I’m sorry about what happened with your parents.”

  
“It’s okay. I guess we both have shitty dads,” Trevor says without thinking. They never talk about Brandon’s dad. It has always been one of those unspoken things. Everyone knows about it but no one dares to talk about it.

Brandon just nods slowly, “sucks for us I guess.”

  
After a couple of tries, Trevor finally gets the key into the keyhole so he can open the door. Trevor’s house smells like vanilla, or more specifically, like his mom, despite her current absence. He tries his best to ignore it.

  
“You have fun?” Trevor slurs as they kick off their shoes in the hallway.

  
“Eh,” Brandon answers, shrugging his shoulder, “think I’m too… in my shit to have fun.”  
Of course, overcompensation has always been Brandon’s tell, but he had been too focused on his crush to notice his friend’s behavior.

  
Trevor glances up to him, his brown eyes illuminated by the flickering fluorescent above them. A silent apology for not noticing sooner.

  
“Anything I can, uh…” Trevor searches Brandon’s face for an answer, ignoring the hot air that coils around them, pulling him in like a vortex. He shuffles closer, “that I can do to help?”

  
Perhaps Brandon can feel it too because, in less than a second, there is a new heat against his mouth. A deviant prayer that Trevor so desperately wants to grant.

  
Brandon’s hands dig into Trevor's hips, a movement so familiar that Trevor can’t believe he’s never felt it before.

  
But this is all wrong. The offending taste of tequila reminds Brandin of where they are and where they were.

  
Trevor can barely support himself, he’s so drunk.

  
And Brandon… well Brandon’s so drunk he kissed him.

  
Pushing Brandon away, Trevor backs up in shame, his head hanging low.

  
“Brandon, we can’t do this,” he breathes, “we’re both drunk.”

  
“Exactly. Neither of us will remember. Please, Trevor, just distract me.”

  
Trevor stares into those blue eyes. He’s drowning. Drowning in the crystal clear blue. Drowning in this feeling of want. Of need. He nods, all too quickly to be played off as nonchalant.

  
Brandon doesn’t seem to care as he grabs Trevor’s neck, pulling him closer, colliding their lips together. Trevor has dreamt of this moment for weeks. Imagining what those lips would feel like in the seclusion of his own room. This is different. This is more… real.

He moves his hand up to Brandon’s chest, pressing his palm into his peck, feeling Brandon’s heartbeat beneath the skin. It feels slow. A sharp contrast to Trevor’s own fast-beating heart. His hands snake up to Brandon’s jaw, it’s defined and Trevor can feel the muscle move with each push and pull movement of their mouths.

  
Brandon moves his arms down, snaking them around Trevor’s waist. They subtly slip beneath his shirt and Trevor’s groan at the cold contact is swallowed whole by the other boy.

  
A small part of Trevor’s mind is yelling at him to stop. This is a distraction for Brandon. He doesn’t feel the same way about you, his brain screams.

  
His thoughts are drowned out by the feeling of Brandon’s nails scraping against his spine as they slowly dip lower, and lower until they are at the hem of his jeans.

  
Trevor slowly moves the two back until he has the blond against the wall, cornering him so he can attack even more ferociously. Trevor tries, though admittedly weakly, to take control of the kiss. He’s successful, for a second, as he has the other boy pressed to the wall. He pulls away, his eyes flicking over Brandon’s face. His face is painted in a haze of desire.

  
Trevor’s focus shifts as he begins leaving chaste kisses on the neck of the boy in front of him. The lust pooling in the bottom of his stomach compels him to scrape his teeth against the skin. Brandon lets out a shuddering breath which Trevor mimics and he decides he wants to hear more. No sound will ever compare to the shallow breathing and light moans of the blond boy, Trevor decides. He returns to that spot, kissing and sucking until a bruise forms itself in the middle of the blond’s neck.

  
Brandon moves his hands even lower, abandoning the circles he had been drawing into the boy's skin a second before, and presses them right below Trevor’s ass. Leaning down, Brandon hoists the brunet up, pausing to let Trevor wrap his legs around his waist, and moves them to the counter five feet away.

  
Trevor groans at the increased friction between their crotches and Brandon takes the opportunity to shove his tongue back into the smaller boy’s mouth, pressing himself even closer to the boy.

  
“Fuck, Brandon,” Trevor pants as Brandon pulls away to suck his own hickey into the other’s neck.

  
“Do you wanna stop?” he asks, his actions betraying his words as he presses smaller kisses up and down his jaw.

  
“Please no,” he responds, grabbing a fistful of blond hair and pulling the larger boy back up to his lips.

  
They continue like that, pushing and pulling in a battle of lips, tongues, and hands.  
“Do you wanna…?” Brandon trails off, his eyes flicking over to Trevor’s bedroom.

  
Trevor pauses. He was latched on to Brandon with his legs wrapped around his waist and hands in his hair. He could feel the heat in his pants and he could feel the hard on in Brandon’s. Did he want this? The obvious answer was yes. He desperately wanted to be fucked by Brandon. But did he want it this way? Did he want to be the person Brandon used to distract himself from his problems?

  
He is okay with it, he decides.

  
So he nods and lets himself be picked up by his best friend. Lets himself be thrown onto the bed in the least delicate way possible. Lets himself savor the way Brandon’s muscles move when he pulls his black shirt over his head. Lets himself pretend that Brandon loves him. And he’s okay with it.

* * *

The following year, Brandon falls in love with a girl named Rowan Fricks, and suddenly he’s not okay with it.

  
Maybe he hasn’t been okay with it for a long time. Maybe his slipping grades and substance abuse have been indicative of that.

  
Everything is piling upon him all at once. The Animal Farm is out for their blood, literally, and all Trevor can do is watch. Watch as Brandon runs himself into the ground trying to protect Rowan. And he doesn’t have anyone to confide in. His mom is gone. His dad is unfaithful. It’s becoming too much to handle.

  
The space for breathing is getting smaller and smaller. All of that anger he had spent tormenting Rowan the previous year was gone, replaced with this utter fucking emptiness. The type that only makes you care about things you can’t control. The type that has you reaching for any bottle to make you feel whole again. The type that keeps you up at night, sobbing and wishing for a way out.

  
And Trevor finds his way out. He discovers his escape in a small bottle of pills and a bottle of whisky.

  
It takes Rowan a whole hour of holding and crying to get Trevor to calm down. She hoists him off the floor and sits him on the couch. She calls her dad, an officer, first, lets him instruct her on exactly what to do. Within half an hour their family is in the living room.

Trevor’s mom is cradling Trevor, whispering in his ear as his dad and Rowan’s parents discuss what is best.

  
Trevor spends three days in the psychiatric care unit. He’s placed on a medication plan and talks extensively about his feelings. For the most part, Trevor is tired. Tired of pretending he is okay. It’s a relief to be able, to be honest, and real.

  
The meds start to work and in the beginning, he’s impulsive, he says a couple of things to Brandon that he probably shouldn’t have said, but he’s better. He really is.

  
Rowan—his sister, as he refers to her now, and not in the sarcastic way he used to—is his best supporter. She buys him a weekly pill box and places it in their bathroom right next to her own. “If you so much as dare to touch my Xanax I will rein hell,” she jokes, shaking her own pillbox with her PTSD medication. She is the only one he can have this banter with. She just understands it.

* * *

So life carries on, and Trevor is very, very, happy that this proves to be true. Happy that he still has a life. He moves on from Brandon for the most part. It still hurts to see him with Rowan and talking to him is still the tiniest bit awkward. He can feel Brandon trying to hold back the apologies. He had told him expressly that weekend after the attempt, “I didn’t try to kill myself just because we fucked and you moved on, so don’t try and apologize for something that’s not your fault.”

  
Brandon had only nodded, shifting the subject to ask how the food had been. (“Not good, bro, it was a hospital”).

  
So all in all, a lot had changed since that night. Most important being Brandon’s blond hair, which the boy died black a few days after their hookup. (He looks hot with it though, which makes Trevor’s task of moving on just the slightest bit harder).

  
He continues to use drugs, but not in the way he used to. Drugs are fun now. He doesn’t use them to fill the void in himself. Instead, he takes them to chill and enjoy his time. He doesn’t drink anymore though, mostly because alcohol is disgusting and if he wants to make stupid decisions, he’ll make them while sober, thank you very much.

  
Rowan doesn’t understand this part. She doesn’t like drugs and she especially doesn’t like Trevor using them. Which is… a problem, to say the least.

  
But it warms Trevor to know that she cares, and that’s enough.

  
Because he gets it. Gets why Brandon would like her. Hell, he can stop himself from caring about her in return. It makes it easier (or maybe it doesn’t) but it helps to be able to look at Rowan and see her for herself instead of everything he’s not.  
And that’s enough.

**Author's Note:**

> This is supposed to be the first chapter of a multi chapter fic about Trevor and an OMC but I got lazy. I might post it later as a series if I ever regain that motivation.


End file.
